


Hope, When It's Over...

by firearms57



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M, jasnah+mama because damn she needs some support, this fic is all about jasnah i love her, wit + jasnah ...not such a good road trip, yeah the title of this work has multiple meanings. take a way that comma o-O
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firearms57/pseuds/firearms57
Summary: "She should be alright once she reached a populated city, with defendable walls and enough manpower to scare off the few that might be after her, but unfortunately for her, civilization was still a long way off.For this reason and another, Jasnah suppressed a groan."Or:Directly after the events of Words of Radiance, Jasnah and Wit are travelling to the nearest mode of civilization. Jasnah's missing home, though she'd never admit it, and she's at a loss of what to do with the news of the looming Desolation ahead, though of course she'd never admit that either.(CHAPTER 3 part 2 UP NO LATER THAN 12/31/17)





	1. Damn, That's a Long Way

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is all about jasnah, folks. i just love her. im in the middle of oathbringer but havent reached her yet, but i got tired of waiting so im writin a divergene i suppose. come along for the ride :)

The rock was hot as baked iron in the heat of the sun. She could feel it through the worn hide of her boots, heels steaming and kicking up little dust clouds in her wake. Rockbuds crept back from her tread, light though it was -- a lady's step -- and left behind a blank trail through the rows and rows of scruffy plant-life. Not, perhaps, the best thing to leave behind if you were worried about being tracked by a race of warmongering people set out on a path to destroy all mankind, and consequently find yourself lumped in with the rest.

  
She should be alright once she reached a populated city, with defendable walls and enough manpower to scare off the few that might be after her, but unfortunately for her, civilization was still a long way off.   

For this reason and another, Jasnah suppressed a groan. 

She had always thought herself intelligent, more than most if she was being honest (which of course she was), and her thoughts a reflection of her nature. It didn't take much to conclude that others, too, held her mind in high regard; she was a thinker, introspective and with a critical eye always prepared for use on the world and its inhabitants. Hers was a mind constantly in motion, always calculating, connecting, progressing.

When she was young, before death and the truth of adulthood had spoiled the love between them, Navani often held her daughter in an embrace, sat upon the silken expanse of her bed with naught but the moon for company, and whisper into her hair, "Your mind alone is a powerful weapon, Jasnah. So is the blessing of true quiet. But put the two together and I believe you'll achieve things I could only dream of."

And as she'd grown, the sentiment had found truth. Her head was busy, always bursting full of questions and an irascible demand for answers, and yet it revelled in the quiet. Her best work had been done in the wee hours of the night, when silence was at its peak, thus promoting the (true) rumors about her unhealthy sleeping habits (or lack thereof). 

Returning to current events... 

With the world in shambles and all societal beliefs disproven -- she couldn't help but feel a twinge of smug satisfaction, a sort of "I told you so", at that -- deep thought was what was required of her next. By default, quiet was required next, but _storms_  was it hard to find any when the man walking beside her seemed to have absolutely no appreciation for it whatsoever. 

"So you see," Wit raised a finger as he continued his speech, "it would be quite normal for the chicken to feel drawn to the other side if there's already a Windrunner standing over there, and if he's already Lashed himself to the poor bird. That's just the way Surgebinding works!" 

He looked to her with brows raised.

"Mm," Jasnah said. 

In all her life, she'd never quite felt like this before: with the unshakable urge to grab a fistful of hair by its roots and _yank_. Perhaps she might, if the speech continued, or perhaps the cool mask she wore would finally crumble and she'd take to yelling the half-crazed tumble of words jostling about her head, but with Wit, she'd found it best to respond as little as possible, wait 'til he'd tired of talking, and hope that the next time he started up was in a long time coming.

As it happened, Wit was seemingly content with her response, and all it took was a satisfied nod before he fell quiet.

Jasnah tried to hide the way her shoulders relaxed, more out of habit than anything, for Wit's attention was on fiddling notes with his flute, a sound that though obnoxious, was much easier to ignore than the ramblings of a mad man. 

Jasnah set her gaze to the rockbud-infested ground and the cogs of her brain whirred to life. 

_1174, and the time of the Desolation is upon us again. The Voidbringers are, in fact, the Parshendi, and through a perverted mimicry of the bond between Radiant and spren, they've become as powerful as they were in ages past. In their shift from  natural to supernatural, the Parshendi awoke the Everstorm, which will be on the world in a matter of time. How long, I cannot say, only that any time is a time too near. But Urithiru is discovered and the Radiants arise once again. Or so says Wit, anyway._

That, at least, should have served as some sort of beacon, and yet it was  like setting a candle to the task of lighting a highstorm. Hopeless. It was not Jasnah's nature to put hope where there was none, yet neither was it to sit in the dirt and accept defeat. No, no matter how she and her mother disagreed, there was no denying heredity its humor, and nobody would disagree Jasnah or Navani for their sheer storming will. 

Only problem was... she was stumped, and that was not something Jasnah was accustomed to. 

"What to do, Ivory?" she asked of the floating creature above her shoulder. 

The spren flitted to the space in front of her face, close enough that her eyes strained to focus. His face was eggshell-white in the sun's heady light.

"What is always done, Jasnah," he said. "Saving."

"'hoy, Brightness," called Wit. "I'm wounded! Talking to a spren over me? Preposterous!" 

Jasnah closed her eyes, counted back from ten, then loosed her breath. When she opened her eyes once again, she found, as always, Ivory had faded away into her shadow at the mention of their connection, no matter how obscure it might be.

It used to irritate her, his sudden disappearances, but with kindnesses so rare these days, she'd let empathy leak into her heart, and more often she felt sorrow for her friend, to be shunned by his kind for an act that was done from the pureness of curiosity and the need to _know_. 

"I was," Jasnah replied shortly, "before you interrupted." 

Wit chuckled. "Apologies. I could scarce _hear_  the conversation I was interrupting. Or see half of it, for that matter. Perhaps if he'd take a lesson from me in showmanship he might overcome his stage-fright."

"Or perhaps you might take a lesson from him and learn the meaning of 'quiet'." 

"Ah! I assure you I know much about the splendor of silence. The happiness of the hush. Thankful for times of tranquil. Of course, all different from the fun of the drum, or the joys of noise. And then there are the spoils of noise, one of which is the joy, and two of which are the joys. Catch me, boy?" He paused. "Er...well, 'woman,' if you must be finicky." 

Jasnah rolled her eyes, wished there were an Almighty to pray to for help, and quickened her step.   

With Wit's incessant rambling behind her, she took note of the land. The ground was levelling out, the sweep of rockbuds thinning into hard-packed dirt. A good sign, that. Dirt would eventually lead to soil, and then water, and then the growing of agricultural settlement, and -- storms, she never thought she'd be happy about this last one, but -- humanity.

Though she'd never say it out loud, she missed company, and no, the idiot trailing behind her didn't count. She missed the good, intelligent company of another scholar, someone whom she might share her ideas with, and be given new insight in return.

She missed the company of another woman, whom she found kinship over stupid things (despite her desperate attempts to prevent it), and important things (again, despite all attempts against). But aside from Shallan, there was also Adolin, whom she enjoyed caring for, and Renarin, one who actually appreciated silence and all it entailed. Dalinar, too, for he could inspire hope in her like nothing else could.

And then Navani, because  _storms_ Jasnah had been working so hard these past months (years?), and maybe she was tired, not just fatigued but wrung-dry with a bone-weary exhaustion, and maybe it would be nice to have someone look after _her_.

Maybe it'd be nice to have a mother again...   


	2. Wit's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasnah is grumpy while Wit enjoys the pleasures of a tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this took so long. its not even a long chapter really, but... im a slow writer, and my days are busy...? never heard that excuse before im sure.

They were in a tavern.

Jasnah just  _ hated  _ taverns. The smell of alcohol and week-dried sweat made for an odor bad enough to rival that of a rotting corpse. The constant buzz of conversation, the bawdy jokes, the hearty laughter — it was enough to make any scholar, raised in the quiet of a library or study-hall, cringe. 

Then there was the heat. The low-beamed ceiling and tight press of bodies was enough to keep the taproom well above comfortable temperatures, even without a proper heating fabriel (because, honestly, Mother, no one can afford those). Jasnah felt a prickle of sweat at her temple, and she hoped that it was covered in the twist of her upraised hair. (A drop had already trailed down the groove of her spine, but thank Nomon that was _definitely_ hidden in the folds of her loose cotton shirt.) 

Besides the physical discomforts, there was also the... atmosphere. It wasn’t particularly malicious, at least not to other people, but within crowds like these — darkeyes of low standing, pulled from every corner of the residential area, back alleys and underground hideaways — she couldn’t help but feel... _ out of place.  _

Her freehand flew to her mouth in a not-so-subtle parody of a cough.  _ Storms,  _ she’d almost  _ chortled _ at that thought.

A lighteyed woman, quite clearly noble at that (no denying it, Jasnah, you’re anything but subtle in this area), sitting primly at a shoddy table in a squalid tavern in the middle of some backwater town, one that probably had probably not had been graced with a lighteyes' presence since its founding. Among the leering stares, lusting and scornful in equal measure, anyone would feel out of place.

She almost laughed. Yet again.

_ Out of place. Ha!  _ Fine a joke as she’d ever heard.

At the third slip of a smile, she was glad that she knew of no Surges that granted telepathic abilities, or her carefully crafted identity as a stone cold wall might long ago have been figured for a lie. 

_ Jasnah…?  _

The meek brush of a whisper in her mind reminded her that there was in fact someone who could hear her thoughts. 

_ Jasnah, why do you have laughter now?  _ asked Ivory. _ You have not had laughter for a long passing of time. _

She paused, glanced down to where the dim spherelight cast a crude silhouette of her head across the tabletop. Sure enough, the spot just between her shoulder and collarbone was colored a shade darker than the area around it, as if its two-dimensional surface had somehow gained depth. 

It was this dark spot she addressed as she said in her mind,  _ The things we’ve seen…  _ Jasnah struggled to find a suitable way to explain empathy and respect for the lost.  _  It did not seem right to laugh then. But now it’s different.  _

_ Why is there difference?  _

_ Because…  _ She thought about it, and found, to her own surprise, that she was not quite sure what had been the spur to her shift in mood. 

_ Mania _ . She near snorted at the thought. (Again, Jasnah? _ ) Or perhaps insanity _ . 

Besides those, nothing rational came to mind. The Desolation was still on its way, the Everstorm still moved, wreaking havoc in its wake, the Voidbringers were still reborn. But something had shifted the tide of dread in her to a tide of hope. That perhaps they might actually win this thing...? It was a fancy that she might have expected from Shallan, but certainly not from a seasoned woman such as herself. In fact, it was almost unacceptable. 

Yet there it was. 

After another moment passed, and Jasnah still had not answered the question, Ivory said,  _ Your knowledge is not _ . He sounded pleased.  _ This is good. _

_ Why is it be good that I can’t make sense of my own emotions?  _

_ If knowledge is not, then it is something that will soon be, which is good for the one whose knowledge is not. _

Jasnah didn’t understand any of that, but she didn’t push further. Ivory was confusing at the best of times. 

A long, satisfied sigh brought her attention to the black-haired nuisance sitting across from her. Just another point to add to the ever growing list of reasons why she hated taverns. 

_ I’ll call it... “Tavern Hatred.” _

“I do love taverns,” Wit said, as always an obnoxious contradiction to her every thought. “I must have visited at least a couple thousand in my lifetime. Hundreds of years and the design hasn’t changed much. Same bar, same cremlings on the floor, same  _ voracious  _ crowd —” 

Jasnah noted the seedy half-bearded fellow ogling the slope of her breasts, and muttered, “Same  _ salacious  _ crowd.” 

Wit inclined his head. “Ah! As you once worked wonders in the deductive skills of observation and reasoning, you continue to do so today.” He gave a mocking bow. “What a scholar you are! Anyhow, the windows are the same, too.” He took a sip of his drink, no slurp, pinky lifted, and set his mug back down with a dainty  _ clink. _ “Windows used to be a mark of wealth, you know. See how narrow they are? That used to be because nobody knew how to make glass. Except the Natans, but they priced glass at a ridiculous price, and nobody but royalty could  _ really  _ afford to buy it. That’s why you’ll find so much glass in the old design work of castles.” He grinned, teeth stained pale red from the contents of his cup. “Classic royal vanity.” 

An abandoned wood mug sat on the dusty table before her, filled to to the brim with a murky brown liquid and a tacky layer of foam on top. In a perfect imitation of “classic royal vanity,” Jasnah wrinkled her nose, extended a single finger and pushed the mug to Wit’s end of the table. 

She then turned her sharp-eyed gaze on him and addressed his previous words. “And where did you happen to pick up all this information on...  _ancient glasswork_?”

Wit smiled and leaned back in his stool, far enough to set it, rocking, onto two legs. Somehow he managed to retain his balance without a seatback. His reply was, “Read it somewhere.”

Jasnah raised a manicured brow. “In all my years of study, I can’t ever recall finding architectural records of taverns from years past. Or years current, if we’re being honest.” 

“Heard it from a friend.” 

“You just said you read it —” 

“You can’t expect all truth from the King’s Wit, now can you?” He sat forward, stool legs thudding against the floorboards. “So, Brightness, what’s your plan against the Desolation?” 

Jasnah blinked at the sudden change in subject, but she regained herself with practiced ease. “I...don’t have much in way of that yet. But seeing as the Radiants have returned all on their own —” She gestured to herself. “— one part of the problem has already solved itself. Most of my plan involves the retention and sharing of my knowledge, then to put further thought into it within the confines of a safe council and minds possessed of a scholar’s wit.” 

“Well I don’t know about _scholarly_ , but my Wit is certainly experienced.”

“Not you, Wit,” she ground out. “My mother’s wit. Or my Uncle’s.”

“Technically I  _ am  _ your Uncle’s Wit, since I’m the Wit of the Kholin house in general — which means I’m your Wit as well, Brightness! Look at that! ‘The King’s Wit’ is really quite a misleading name, as it’s not the wit of the King guiding my tongue, but the wit of Wit.”  

“Wonderful,” she deadpanned. “As always, you chase your own tail in circles. I’ve surmised that it is a way to hide your utter lack of competency in whatever it is you’re speaking about. A bothersome way to go about it, but I’ve dealt with worse.” 

For some reason Wit laughed. “I’m sure you haven’t, Brightness. Friends of mine think they’ve met the worst, until they meet  _ me _ . Though, now that I think of it, they aren't much of friends at all.” 

This admittance of his brought her an unexpected amount of delight (perhaps because you too, Jasnah, are lacking in companionship?) and with an uncharacteristically playful quirk to her lips, she leaned forward and said, “I would bet against a bridgeman — no, against _Shallan_ — that you’ve not had a single friend in the three or four decades you’ve spent on this planet.” 

Wit idly swirled his cup. “Three or four decades, huh? And on this planet…” He nodded finally. “Get betting, Brightness, for I would say you’re correct. In all the three or four decades I’ve spent on this planet, I’ve not once had a friend.” 

“Hm.” She rested her chin in her palm. “How, then, could you make the previous distinction between friend and enemy?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say I’ve never  _ had  _ a friend.” 

Her brow furrowed. “How does that —”

“Oh, look at that! What a pretty sunset!” 

Jasnah scowled. She didn’t like being interrupted, and Wit seemed to have made a habit of it. Despite herself, she followed Wit’s gaze to the rather  _ thin  _ window and beyond. The sun had sank far enough below the horizon that the bright reds and golds that would have painted the sky an hour earlier had already dimmed to a low candlelight-gleam. 

“It’s… agreeable,” she admitted, grudging. 

_ Jasnah! You have made a lie  _ be!  _ Fascinating…  _

_ Oh, be quiet,  _ she intoned sourly. _ You’re not a Cryptic.  _

“Agreeable?” Wit asked. “As in ‘the stew is agreeable with my stomach’? Or ‘Toff is an agreeable fellow’? Interesting word choice, Brightness, but I suppose it’s agreeable.” 

Her scowl deepened.

“Brightness, is something not agreeing with you? Your drink, perhaps?” He motioned to her untouched cup, the one she’d pushed to rest just beside his. “Whatever it is, you’re expression is certainly  _ not  _ agreeable.” 

Jasnah forced her muscles to relax, going so far as to do what her mother called “untying the knots” (that is — from the shoulders), then blew out a harsh breath through her nose. On the returning inhale, she felt remarkably better. The clamor in her head lessened, she was more alert, more  _ awake.  _ She thought,  _ Well, Mother, apparently your advice  _ does  _ work. Only, it takes thirteen years for it to do so.  _

She was feeling good. 

That is, until Wit said, “You’re glowing, Brightness.” 

Jasnah released the stormlight in a hacking cough, most unbefitting of a lady, drawing a concerned look from the barkeeper and shocked, gaping mouths from everyone else. When she’d (discreetly) re-swallowed her tongue, she watched, on edge, as the pale blue light drifted towards the ceiling in a wispy cloud, then dispersed into the air. 

Wit was regarding her with amusement plain on his face, but she didn’t even have the space of mind to feel annoyance at that, merely leaned forward and hissed, “Tell me no one saw that.” 

“No one saw that.” 

She relaxed. “Thank the — Wait.” Just as fast, her eyes narrowed. “Tell me  _ if  _ no one saw that.” 

Wit shrugged. “Not really.” He flicked his chin. “Only that girl over there.” 

Jasnah’s gaze shot to the place he’d indicated, the corner of the room over by the stacked-box bar, where a flaxen haired, doe-eyed girl was staring unblinking at Jasnah, dun sphere held lank in her palm. 

“Stormfather,” she hissed. “What do we do now? I can’t very well let her go parading about with  _ that  _ information .” 

“Look on the bright side — should be easy, you are after all  _ Brightness  _ — that girl doesn’t look likely to confront the gum on her shoe, let alone her mother about the strange glowy lady she saw in the tavern today.” 

Jasnah was not convinced, but the girl blinked twice, and then she was scurrying away into the shadowy gloom of the towering boxes. 

“ _ Stormfather. _ ”

"Bright side, Brightness! You're not drunk anymore." 

"I wasn't drunk to begin with." 

He lifted a brow. "Even better. Gives me more space to get drunker." 

With that, he reached for her abandoned mug, raised it to his lips, and downed the contents in a single go. 

Jasnah stared at him, a grimace growing on her lips. 

Wit made a face. "That is disgusting." There was only half a second between his proclamation, said sitting from atop his stool as a sane person would, and the next moment. Jasnah watched, disturbed, as Wit's body lolled to the side, weight shifting slowly, blue eyes winking shut, and then a loud  _thump._

A moment later the tavern was in chaos. People yelling because even though they go out drinking every night they've never seen a drunk before? Barmaid shrieking because when everyone else is yelling, why not? The barkeep dashing over quicker than a man on his first bridge-run because obviously the owner of this _lovely_ establishment would be the kindest, most compassionate caretaker of his unfortunate customers, even going so far as to lift them into the air and settle them back in their seat. Because he's nice, of course. Nothing to do with slipping that spare coin out of his customer's coat pocket. No, nothing to do with that at all. 

While all of this happened, Jasnah remained seated, and disturbingly, confusingly, ridiculously, her only thought was,  _Well. I suppose he's at Wit's end, then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh please tell me you got that joke about wits end?


	3. okay oops im late but im coming back i promise

i am so sorry totally late with the next chapter but it will be up by next monday. hopefully you havent all lost hope in this :/ happy holidays!


	4. Interlude: A Slaughter on a Jesel: 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a saying in the Reshi Isles...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i promised to update today but my entire chapter got deleted last night because i forgot to save (like an idiot) and had to rewrite the entire thing today. so i did, but it came out way longer than i thought and im splitting it into 2 parts. okay? cool.  
> merry christmas! (or happy holidays!)

 

There is a saying in the Reshi Isles.

_ Engen vil-ish ka en Jeselna.  _

Nobody wants to watch a slaughter on a Jesel. 

It is perhaps the most commonly coined phrase on the country. Where once they had been the passing mark of foreign traders and sailors, they were quickly adopted into the common vernacular once the first Reshi began to settle on the backs of greatshells and were in need of cultural enrichment. Today, it is impossible to go through an exchange of dialogue without stumbling upon the phrase, or rather, having the phrase chucked at your face like a ten-pound block of stone (you just try it). 

As to the meaning… Despite her constant questioning, Jasnah had not been able to discern one during her brief excursion to the Isle of Sumi — a three month research journey to dig up information about how coastal minerals affected marine life, back in her younger years, when Jasnah was not above taking advantage of her father’s favoritism and exceptional resources.

She had first heard the saying in the marketplace, plucking her attention — a scholar’s ear, Navani called it — from the skyeel spinning circles in the air, and her wondering at how such small fins could provide a bolster effective enough to repel gravity’s pull. Behind her was Ken, her...companion? (Gavilar and Navani both had insisted he accompany her — Gavilar because  _ He’ll keep you safe  _ and Navani because  _ I’ve been researching the migration patterns of foreign greatshells, thinking perhaps it will help with predicting where chasmfiends are most likely to attack, and you’re going to the Reshi Isles  _ — here she took a breath —  _ and Ken is good with fishing and sailing, and well...perhaps you’ll have time for a diversion? _ _ )  _

So behind her was Ken, examining a crate of firefruit (since apparently fruit picking was a hidden skill of his). They were hot as chili peppers, a masculine food by all standards of Alethi society, but after a single taste in the privacy of her chambers (for research purposes, you see), they had also become a guilty pleasure. 

In the beginning, she kept a few in her vanity drawer, trusting that cultural taboo was enough to dissuade visitors from checking inside her private compartments. She’d spend the day researching on the field, then return to her rooms at night with the promise of a sinful delicacy before bed, falling asleep with the heady taste of firefruit on her tongue. 

It went well for all of three days, until misfortune happened upon her and Ken, for some storming reason, decided that the hour before Mishim’s rising was as good a time as any to barge into his lady’s room. There, he’d paused, finding his Brightlady midway through a firefruit, the very same kind that, when he offered, she had politely refused and set to giving him a brief lesson on feminine dining.

Jasnah had been surprised of course, but her poise was there when her brains were not, and her movements had been calm and sure when she lowered the half-eaten fruit to the ground and stated that it would be best if nobody ever heard of this particular fancy of hers. Ken had just smiled, tapped his nose with a finger, and said, “Of course, Brightness.” He bowed on his way out. 

Jasnah spent the first few weeks searching for a proper vendor. While she walked along the beach, taking notes on tidal patterns and the growth rate of maritime creatures, Ken was out traipsing through the various marketplaces in search of treasure. When they met up in the evenings, Jasnah would wordlessly take the fruit from Ken, ignoring his smug grin as she walked back to her room. 

Finally, she had settled on a leather-skinned man named Kuna, for though it was a hit or miss with his fruit, he was casual enough about his business that he did not mind handing out sale rates or a ‘free one, just this time!’ to his “Radiant One.” (Oh, yes, that’s a foreshadow.)

She tolerated his nicknames with long-suffering resignation, because her first efforts to dissuade him had only set him to work with a smile. 

Now here they were in the marketplace, Jasnah marveling at skyeels and their near supernatural dynamics, Ken beside her muttering under his breath as he weighed firefruit in his palm.

A moment passed, with more muttering.

Finally Kuna said in his surprisingly well-versed Alethi, “My beautiful candle, your dog has been sniffing my wares for so long I fear that soon he will want to mark his territory. Could you not tell him to wash his paws before tracking mud all over my shop?” 

Jasnah turned to the man, leaning back in a chair of sagging straw mesh. She looked from the sandy ground, up to the four poles and overhanging blanket that comprised his “shop.” Her gaze fell to Ken with a faint frown.

He was still muttering as he upended a fruit onto its rounded bottom, then shook his head at the large purple bruise spreading from center to side. He raised his voice to speak directly to Kuna, “It wouldn’t take so long if you actually took a moment to check the quality of your product before laying them out for selling.” 

Here, Kuna had laughed out loud, so loud in fact that it slowed a man carrying bags enough to shield his face from view, and then caught the attention of two women and a little boy between them. 

Jasnah hid a grimace. 

Ken was glaring at Kuna with downturned brows, still holding the spoiled firefruit in his hand, but Kuna only clutched at his potbelly and wheezed, “Well, nobody does want to see a slaughter on a Jesel!” 

 

The second time she heard the saying, she’d been on the sea. It was a month into her journey, and she had been collecting data at a quick enough pace that she decided she could indeed spare a day to humor her mother’s wishes. 

For such laid back people, the Reshi were oddly fascinated by greatshells and put a ridiculous amount of effort into hounding the things to the far ends of the world (the ones active enough to swim, that is). The greatshell they now hunted was fondly called Kinji; see, she visited the shores of Arak often enough that the natives had grown attached to her (and she was strangely small, too small to populate). Many of the Reshi took to tossing her scraps of meat or leftovers from their dining table, which she accepted quite readily. 

Not just chasmfiends that were carnivorous then. Jasnah made a note to give that piece of information to Navani. 

But though she was quick enough to take what was offered up by the Reshi, Kinji was flighty and her temper had a reputation. One wrong move, and she was gone, back into the sea.

It was often that people took to spreading their sails and tracking her, to the point that it had become something of a game among the people of Arak. How long could you remain on her tail before she lost you in the swirls of a highstorm.

The Reshi said Kinji came in search of a chase, though Jasnah, after seeing how quick the greatshell was to take her meals and leave, was of the opinion that Kinji came in search of free food. The Reshi could not be persuaded of course, always stubborn. Jasnah didn’t mind. They could continue to personify a creature no more intelligent than her shoe, as many scholars-gone-wrong did to the common spren. The inability to accept your own ignorance was something she had come to expect from the majority of people, and the least she could do was collect her own amusement from it.

Despite what Navani had said about Ken being a skilled sailor, she had yet to have proof of it. When she’d asked him to take her out to sea, he had agreed… And then brought her to a captain and his crew the following morning. 

Well.

More reliable, she supposed. 

The captain had even agreed to take her free of charge. (When she’d pulled spheres from her safepouch, he had been appalled, said that her beauty was payment enough for him. Jasnah was beginning to feel that the use of her looks as an excuse to bestow unprecedented privileges upon her was getting a bit stale. Annoying, more like, but her mother had taught her to be a diplomat, and a diplomat she would be when the times demanded, no matter how it irked her to do so. No one would call Jasnah Kholin an idiot.) 

It had been four hours since they last saw Kinji, and the captain was getting ready to turn back. The crew took this news with cries of dismay and the good-natured upset of a group stubbornly set to an utterly purposeless task. Jasnah herself was not disappointed. She’d spent the hours gleaning information about her research from a chatty cook — (apparently it was the highstorm that did it, raised the tide high enough that it could swallow the nutrient-filled plant life that dotted the shoreline, normally kept safe from the water’s grasp).

But before the captain could reach the wheel, the ship rocked, hard. 

Shouts broke out amongst the crew and Jasnah nearly stumbled, her freehand shooting forward to grip the ship’s railing, but she returned herself to straight-backed serenity before anyone could notice. 

She turned her attention to the sea, and the cause of the commotion, and was somehow surprised and not at the same time. Visible against the water as a vast swathe of mossy green and grey carapace was a greatshell’s...well, great shell.

The captain let out a delighted whoop, spun his wheel into a theatrical spin, and yelled from across the deck, “Kinji is here! Tell the Shining-ness to show carefulness, Ken!”

The ship tilted dramatically with the captain’s sudden about-face, but Jasnah was prepared for it this time, and her balance stayed with her. 

The crew was in complete disarray, strewn about the ship like a scattered handful of playing jacks, some throwing their backs out against ropes, others sprinting across the decks with parcel in hand, only to come dashing back with another. 

Ken, doing his best to reach Jasnah through the sea of bodies, dodged a barefoot boy racing for the crow’s nest, then sidled over. He cleared his throat, then said, “Show carefulness, Shining-ness.” 

Jasnah ignored him. Her attention was focused on where Kinji had emerged, for though she swam in the classic draw and pull of all greatshells, there was something odd about the way she moved. She swayed back and forth, not in the smooth cutting motion made by creatures of the sea, but a lopsided trundle, as if she struggled to keep an extra weight afloat. More specifically, her head. 

Jasnah blinked. “I can see her eye.”

“Eye —” Ken took a step back. “That’s terrifying.” 

The high trill of a child’s voice called from above in Reshi. He was obviously alarmed, but the captain only laughed and said, “Even the Shining-ness’s carefulness cannot save us now!”

 The greatshell bellowed, a rumbling bass filled with deep gravitas and notes so low they could not be heard, but felt. Kinji disappeared beneath the waves in a quiet swirl of bubbles, to the obvious relief of Ken and the less seasoned (less  _ crazy _ ) folk on board. But before even a heartbeat passed, she had emerged again, in a burst of crystalline rain droplets and a long, crooning roar.

The crew yelled as one, some in terror, but most in pure, unfiltered delight (storms, how crazy were these people?). Jasnah said nothing, because though she was surprised (how could she not be?), she found herself captivated by the way the sun caught on Kinji’s scaled carapace, like thousands of infused gemhearts spread across the full expanse of her back, the way she twisted in the air and aimed her broad head down towards the water. Jasnah watched Kinji’s descent with growing alarm, because the spot that the greatshell aimed for was unnervingly close to the captain’s wheel (more pressing, unnervingly close to the ship in  _ general _ ). 

The captain did not seem perturbed, though, and even as Kinji fell, nose down, tentacles slamming into the water behind her, he managed to yell out a joyful string of words — though Jasnah could only hear the tail end of it — “...wants to see a slaughter on a Jesel!” 

Then they got wet.


End file.
